


Till I Saw Your Face

by WingsforWinter



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Firefighter Castiel, Fluff, Hurt Dean, M/M, Police Officer Dean, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsforWinter/pseuds/WingsforWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester doesn't believe in Soulmates, even though the evidence is literally marked into most of the populations' skin. </p>
<p>Well maybe they are real, but not for him anyway. He's just fine the way he is. </p>
<p>Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till I Saw Your Face

**Author's Note:**

> Day 9 is-wait for it... Matching Soulmate Markings! 
> 
> Part of the [30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge](http://ghiraher.tumblr.com/post/37135733342/30-day-cheesy-tropes-challenge)
> 
> Happy reading!

 

 

 

 

“Dean, just go for half an hour. You know how Mom worries. Just half an hour and you can leave and then she won’t bug you _and me_ for a little while.” Sam begged.

 

Dean was glad he had pretended not to be home when his little brother came knocking earlier, so they were now having this conversation over the phone. Puppy-dog eyes couldn’t persuade Dean if he couldn’t see them.

 

“No way, Sammy. I told her after the last one. Never again.”

 

Sam huffed on the other end. “Stop being such a baby. They can’t be that bad.”

 

“Yes the fuck they are! Everyone paws all over you and then fucks off as soon as you don’t show a mark. Seeing barely concealed disappointment on 30 faces at a time is real fucking conducive to self-esteem let me tell you. You should feel lucky that you’ve never had to go to one. How is Jess by the way?”

 

Sam humored him and let him change the subject, and for that he was grateful. He knew his mom and Sam and probably even his father were worried that he still hadn’t found his Soulmate, but he wasn’t gonna let them guilt him into another of the stupid Match parties. It was hard enough getting the pitying glances from the already Matched people he saw on a daily basis. He didn’t need to see it from the Unmatched too, as if he was somehow even more pitiful than they were.

 

He took a shower and hastily pulled on his uniform, trying in vain to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that whispered ‘what if.’ He was thirty goddamn years old—not even middle aged yet! And people acted like he was some sad old spinster. He didn’t need some sunshine and rainbows fairytale happy ending to his life. He was _fine_ , dammit.

 

Sure he got a little lonely sometimes, and he’d been green with envy when Sam, at the ripe age of twenty, found Jess when they both reached for the same bottle of girly shampoo at the grocery store. The bastard didn’t stop showing off his Mark for weeks. But he dealt. There were plenty of Unmatched for him to fool around with when he felt like it, and he threw himself into his work when he didn’t.

 

He pulled up at the station just after 8pm. He was in for a night shift, thanks to Garth’s new schedule rotation, and if he didn’t get at least three cups of the battery acid they passed off as coffee in the break room, he was going to start cracking skulls.

 

No sooner had he gotten to his locker and switched the keys for the impala with those of his cruiser than a call came out over the radio strapped to his shoulder. A fire in an apartment building downtown.

 

 

He made it there in minutes, Victor pulling in right behind him. As soon as he stepped out of the cruiser, he could feel the heat from the burning building. Smoke and fire poured out of open windows, painting the night sky a sickly orange. Popping glass and the roar of flame melded with the cacophony of dozens of scared civilians and the ordered chaos of the professionals.

 

People were crowded around, some only in their nightclothes. A few were weeping, clutching their children, huddled together for support. Dean wanted to shake them. Tell them, ‘feel grateful you’re alive.’ Dean’s mother almost didn’t make it out when their house had caught fire when he was a child, and that knowledge followed him to adulthood, made him treat every fire call as if it was happening to his own family.

 

The fire department was already on scene. His job was to keep everyone back while they did their job, and he fully intended to do just that, until movement in an upstairs window caught his eye.

 

Four floors up, hanging out one of the only windows that wasn’t pouring smoke. A kid.

 

Dean didn’t think, he just moved. Later, he would question why no one stopped him, but he made it into the building and up two flights of stairs before he heard his name being shouted over his radio. The realization of what he was doing didn’t stop him, and he relayed the sighting to Victor while he climbed the last two flights of stairs.

 

He nearly lost the skin on his palm when he grabbed at the door handle for the fourth floor. He took a deep breath and ducked as he wrenched it open. The backdraft was minimal, and he pushed through it and into the smoky hallway.

 

He kicked down the door to the apartment the kid was in, and made it to the window to see the boy being collected by a fireman on the truck’s ladder. He had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before the floor caved in.

 

 

 

Dean jolted awake, consciousness hitting him like a sledgehammer. There was  _pain_ , sharp and unexpected, and he only barely stopped himself from whimpering aloud as it swept over him. He blinked his eyes open to a blurry hospital room. He remembered the floor caving in, and then nothing.

 

His first thought was that his mom was going to be _so mad_. He almost laughed, but his breath caught in his throat and he coughed instead, and kept coughing. He couldn’t seem to stop. There were arms around him in an instant, pulling him upright and holding on, rubbing his back until the fit subsided. His skin was thrumming and his mouth tasted like ash. He turned his head, expecting to see Mary or Sam, but was met with an unfamiliar face and a pair of striking blue eyes.

 

“Do you need a nurse?” The man’s voice was low and rolling, like thunder. Dean had the absurd urge to lean forward and kiss him. It would get the sooty taste out of his mouth, if nothing else.

 

Dean just shook his head, not willing to risk another cough attack by trying to speak. Before he could figure out a way to ask the man who he was, the door to his room burst open. All twelve feet of his little brother were through the door and practically in his lap before he could blink, sniffling and pawing at him, all the while calling him names and threatening to kick his ass as soon as he was better.

 

The man backed off but made no move to actually leave, sitting back in a chair that was pulled to his bedside. Dean awkwardly patted his giant little brother on the back a few times and that seemed to force Sam to compose himself. He noticed the man a second later.

 

“Oh! Hi, you must be Castiel. I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. It’s an honor to meet you.” He braced a hand on Dean’s shoulder and leaned over him to shake hands with the guy. Dean let out a wordless squeak of pain and both Sam and the new guy were instantly hovering over him.

 

“I’m fine. Get off.” He ground out while Sam apologized and the man—Castiel apparently—tried to find the call button for the nurse. He was too late to stop Castiel from actually pushing said button, and a minute later a plump, stern-faced woman marched in pushing a cart.

 

She eyed the scene in front of her with a raised eyebrow. “More pain meds?” Dean shook his head resolutely, and winced at the pain in his skull. “You say that now, and we have you dosed up six ways to Sunday. You just sit back and relax, sugar. You're in for a long recovery. Which one of you gentlemen is his Soulmate?”

 

Dean was about to laugh, as people sometimes mistook Sammy for his Match, when Castiel stepped forward, squaring his shoulders like he was in for a scolding.

 

“Keep an eye on his coughing. Make sure he keeps the oxygen line in for at least another six hours.” Dean fought through his confusion to move a hand to his face. Sure enough, he had a set of tubes in his nose. He hadn’t even noticed. Maybe he was more medicated than he thought. Castiel took in all the information with a grim face and a nod, like he was going to be tested on it later.

 

The nurse dosed him through his IV, and he was out before he could ask just what the hell was going on.

 

 

The next time he woke, neither Sam nor Castiel was in the room. He barely had time to be a little disappointed when the latter strode in with a paper bag in one hand and a pastry box in the other. The very corners of his mouth turned up as he saw that Dean was awake.

 

“I thought you’d wake up soon and I assumed you’d be hungry. I do hope you like cheeseburgers.”

 

“Sure. Thank you.” His voice sounded like someone had scrubbed his vocal chords with steel wool, but at least he wasn’t coughing anymore. Castiel handed him a burger and they ate in companionable silence (at least on Castiel’s part, Dean could not be held accountable for the good-food-induced moaning) for several minutes before Dean spoke up.

 

“So apparently you’re my Soulmate?” He was unnaturally calm about the question. The whole thing, from running into a burning building to now, eating a frankly sinful burger with a ridiculously attractive stranger, seemed like some strange dream.

 

Castiel nodded once, and reached out to lift the arm of his hospital gown. A raised, red handprint marred the freckled skin of his shoulder. Well damn. Most Marks were small, looking like birthmarks or long-healed scars. His looked like a fucking _brand_. He stared at it for a good three minutes before looking up.

 

“Where’s yours?” Castiel seemed to fidget a little before opening the first few buttons of his dress shirt and showing his own shoulder.

 

“Sorry for being out when it happened.” All the mushy stories told of how special the first moment of contact was between Soulmates, and he was unconscious for his. Figures. “I’m assuming you're a doctor or a nurse or something?”

 

“Firefighter, actually. I was the one who gripped you tight and raised you from the rubble. That was very reckless of you, by the way. We had the situation well under control. I hope you like apple.”

 

Before Dean could get offended, Castiel placed the pastry box on his lap and opened it. Inside there was a lattice-crust apple pie that looked like something straight out of a magazine. It was almost too perfect to eat. Almost.

 

“Dude, I think I love you.” He grinned at the blue-eyed man, his Soulmate, and he smiled his own subtle smile right back.

 

 

 

One Year Later

 

 

“Dean, half an hour! You know how mom gets. Please don’t make me beg.”

 

Dean was absurdly glad his brother had tried calling him first instead of coming over to try and talk him into the crazy Family-Dinner-Date-Night their mother came up with once Dean had made it out of the hospital. Both he and Castiel were ass naked and he was having a hard time (ha) keeping Cas’s hands off him while he was on the phone. He slapped the groping fingers away as he promised to call back later.

 

“What did Sam have to talk to you about?” Cas asked as he mouthed up Dean’s neck to the bolt of his jaw.

 

“Mom’s bugging him to get us to come to another family dinner.” Dean shuddered when Cas’s hands closed around his shaft, pumping him steadily.

 

“When does she want us there?” Cas’s other hand made a steady trek down his back to the cleft of his ass.

 

“Nuh-uh. No way, Cas. Remember last time? Just thinking about it now makes me want to die of second-hand embarrassment.” He moaned as Cas twisted his wrist and slipped a finger inside him.

 

“Oh it wasn’t that bad. I’ll bake that apple pie you like so much.” One finger turned in to two, and Dean didn’t know whether to push forward into Cas’s hand, or back onto his fingers.

 

“N-no fair. I’m compromised. You can’t expect me to make any sort of informed decision right now.” Dean could feel heat pooling in his gut, and Cas wasn’t even inside him yet.

 

Abruptly, both hands were gone, and Dean didn’t whimper. He didn’t. “How about now?” Cas’s face was stretched into a smug grin. He already knew he won, the bastard.

 

“Alright, alright. We’ll go. I’ll call him as soon as we’re done, happy?” Cas placed his hand on Dean’s Mark, matching his fingers up perfectly with the raised skin, and Dean’s whole body shuddered with pleasure.

 

“I am very happy, Dean.” He said it with far more gravity than the situation called for, and Dean knew he wasn’t just talking about visiting Mary. A stupid, warm, bubbly feeling radiated from the handprint on his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, yeah. No chick-flick moments. Get over here and fuck me before I go blind.”

 

“That is physically impossible, Dean.” Cas grumbled, but complied, stretching out over him and sliding in slowly.

 

 

Later, when he was warm and sated and sleepy with Cas curled around him like the world’s sexiest octopus, Dean smiled. He was so happy it was sickening. Sure Cas wasn’t always perfect, when he was leaving the toothpaste cap off and forgetting to buy milk and washing all the clothes together so all of Dean’s white undershirts were now a pale pink, but if Dean had to do it all over again, he’d run into a hundred burning buildings if it meant he could have this.

 

As if Cas could hear his thoughts, the arms around him tightened. His Soulmate’s voice was even more gravelly than usual when he whispered, ‘ _I think I love you’_ into the back of Dean’s neck.

 

Dean’s smile widened.

 

“Yeah, I think I love you too.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my Chuck these tropes might actually kill me. I'm trying really hard to not write the same stuff over and over. Hopefully I'm succeeding.


End file.
